


green fields of memory scorched black

by thedevilchicken



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Father/Son Incest, Handcuffs, Identity Reveal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24422647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Sometimes, Kylo goes looking for Han Solo. He's not hard to find.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Han Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36
Collections: Writing Rainbow Green, Writing Rainbow Make Up Round





	green fields of memory scorched black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_inks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/gifts).



Han had no idea who he was. Kylo's not sure if he finds that sad or hilarious. 

When he has the time, sometimes he follows him. It's not often because although he's not absolutely sure what Hux would do if he stayed away too long, he's positive that he'd do something. So it's infrequent and it's not for long and he lies about where he's going, wipes the jumps from his TIE's databanks and acts like it's another mission accomplished. Hux usually asks where he was, with that snide curl of his lip like maybe he knows, but even Hux's spies aren't that good. He doesn't know. He never will. Or at least, he thinks, he'd kill him if he did. Even where Snoke's concerned, it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission. 

Of course, Snoke's never asked where he goes, which likely means he knows. The fact he hasn't stopped him means he either doesn't care or thinks it has some value, or else just finds it funny. Kylo finds it funny. Every few months he takes off alone and comes back no more than five or six days later and instead of building a new Empire, looking to the future, he's looking back. Han Solo is the past from which he knows he should detach himself. He tells himself he will; it's just taking longer than expected. 

He's never hard to find. Kylo ceased to be surprised by that some time ago but he still can't understand how the man can make a living as a smuggler when he's half legendary and half infamous. He owes money in more than a dozen systems. At any given time there's at least two competing prices on his head. But when Kylo slipped into the bar three hours ago, there he was: he was at the sabacc table winning big while a surly human woman, two sour-faced Zabraks and a Twi'lek missing the tip of one lek all watched him closely. 

They were so busy watching that they didn't see what was happening: Han wasn't cheating, at least not by himself; he was playing it straight while the freighter captain sitting two chairs to his left kept intentionally losing hand after hand with a cheerful smile. Frankly it wasn't even the tenth most convincing routine that Kylo had seen in his life, except that Han Solo was its face and he'd seen the sharp looks from the corner, from the elegant gray-haired woman with the concealed blaster and the bodyguards. Kylo knew she was the owner. He also knew there wasn't a chance in the galaxy that she didn't know precisely what was happening. 

When Han won the next hand, he cleared both Zabraks out of credits and then stood up from the table. They didn't like that - something about it not being fair they couldn't try to win their credits back, even if they didn't have any more to win them back with. Occupants of nearby tables started edging away, expecting a fistfight at the very least, or something worse given the blasters at the card players' hips, but Kylo stayed exactly where he was, in his shadowy corner booth in his half-face bounty hunter's helmet. 

He didn't expect a fight and none came. The elegant gray-haired woman's bodyguards escorted the Zabraks from the premises once she'd given them the very literal nod over her datapad. Order returned quickly. Kylo was unsurprised; often these lawless places had the strictest codes. He sometimes wondered if the Supreme Leader's new empire could do that, too, just on a much, much grander scale. 

When Han made his way to the owner's table, flush with his new credits, Kylo remained unsurprised. They made believe he was settling a debt to her - perhaps he was, but it was with ill-gotten credits he'd likely conspired with her to win. Then she asked if he'd like to see the menu and he frowned and said, "Thanks, but I'm not real hungry right now."

She smiled archly. "Who said anything about food?" she replied. 

Kylo saw the moment Han understood; for a guy who was meant to be some kind of underworld smooth operator, he sure let his face do a lot of talking. He expected him to say no, smile that charming smile and say, _C'mon, I know I'm getting older but I don't have to pay for it_. He didn't say no. He made a face and leaned closer and said, "Sure, I'll take a look."

Kylo's heart gave a thud. He curled his nails into his palms. He understood the exchange, too; he'd followed some of his mother's pet resistance operatives there not too long before and spent not long at all scraping all of the particulars out of one of the owner's bodyguards' heads. The menu was a straightforward list of their other employees, images, possibilities, and what those possibilities would cost. She brought it up on her datapad and slid it to him across the tabletop. He scrolled. He frowned. He paused. He scrolled some more. Then he stopped and sighed and pushed the pad back. 

"You know me, Talis," he said. "Just bring me something I'll like."

She smiled. She nodded. She told him, "I have just the thing for you, Captain Solo. Why don't you go to your room? I'll have it brought up."

He grimaced and left. She smiled and left, too. Kylo let Han go and followed Talis. 

She was easy to persuade; he didn't even have to threaten harm, just offer credits, which is everything Kylo knows is wrong with bars like hers on the edges of society. She didn't ask for his name or about what he planned to do, just what he wanted her to tell Han. So, he told her, "Tie him to the bed and put a blindfold on him. Tell him you know exactly what he likes."

She did exactly as he told her. And when he walked into Han's room, there he was, just as he'd asked. 

He thinks he meant to kill him. It would have been easy: he was lying there naked with his hands bound to the headboard, a pair of high-end mag-cuffs around his wrists that had evidently seen a lot of wear. The blindfold covering his eyes was tied securely and all he would have had to do was stab him, choke him, run him through with the lightsaber that was concealed at his waist underneath his cloak. He thinks he meant to kill him but he didn't kill him. Then he considered humiliation, broadcasting the predicament Han had gotten himself into to the next five sectors, but he knew almost as soon as he thought it that there would be no point; he'd heard a lot of stories about Han Solo over the years, some of them from the man himself and some in colorful Shyriiwook, some from strangers, and he knew his father's friends and acquaintances really wouldn't be surprised. 

But he knew one thing that would get to him. And this time, when he thought it, it made his face feel hot and his chest feel tight. He knew exactly what he was going to do. 

He dropped his cloak to the floor and the sound of the thick fabric falling onto once-chic polished plastcrete made Han shift against the mattress. "So you're there?" he said. "Talis sent you?"

He took off his helmet, a tacky thing half based on a Mandalorian design that worked well enough to hide what mattered of his face, and set it down on the table by the door. 

"Hmm," he said. He sounded almost nothing like himself - he'd pressed a temporary vocoder into the roof of his mouth before he'd left his ship and it was working perfectly to modulate his tone, distort it, make it completely unrecognizable. But he didn't go on; just because he didn't sound like himself that didn't mean what he said or how he said it couldn't give the game away. 

"Don't tell me she sent a droid," Han said. "You're not a droid, right? That's not my style."

"No," Kylo replied. 

He unclipped his lightsaber from his waist and set it down beside the helmet, wondering vaguely if Han was disappointed that she hadn't sent a droid despite his protests to the contrary. Maybe Han was into metal on his skin, but he didn't look disappointed. He just looked smaller than Kylo remembered him being, and softer and grayer, older but still familiar. He looked like his childhood hero. He looked nervous. Kylo liked that. 

"You don't talk much, huh," Han said. 

Kylo took off his jacket and hooked it over the back of a chair. "No," he replied. 

"You're sure Talis sent you? You got the right room?"

He took off his boots one by one, resting his foot on the chair to pull the zippers. "Yes," he replied. 

"You're _sure_? I'll bet you're real good at what you do but it just I don't usually go for guys."

Kylo stripped off his pants. He stripped off his underwear and stood naked there at the foot of the bed, looking at him. His pulse was fast and when he shivered he told himself it was the chill of the station's controlled climate on his bare skin, nothing else. 

"You'll go for me," he said. Then he climbed onto the bed. 

He'd meant to kill him, he thought. He'd meant to humiliate him. As it was, he climbed up over him until he was straddling his thighs then he sat up and he looked at him. Han hadn't seen him in months, maybe years, since long before he'd left the temple. He'd been so busy, always somewhere else, another job, another big one, promises that Kylo came to understand he meant only for as long as he was saying them. Once he'd gone to Uncle Luke's temple, Han hadn't visited except to duck the fallout from some shady deal gone wrong, and Kylo learned his hero was just a disappointment with a rakish smile. 

He'd meant to kill him and have done with it. But he ran his hands over his hips instead. He raked his nails down both his sides. Then he brushed one palm over the length of Han's soft cock as it rested there against his abdomen and pressed down at the head with the heel of his hand. Han took a sharp breath and tugged on the cuffs with a clink of metal against metal, and Kylo felt it as he started to get hard. It didn't take much; he licked his palm and stroked him with it, slowly, pressure firm and constant, until when he moved his hand away again Han's cock jutted up, thick and flushed and ready. 

He was a good size when erect, Kylo thought, as he wrapped one hand around him. He was long and thick and maybe that was where his overblown bravado came from, because he put the _cock_ in _cocky_. Kylo felt his own cock twitch a little stiffer and he stroked himself with his other hand, his non-dominant hand, awkward though back at the temple he'd taken his exercises seriously: when Luke had said they should be able to do everything with either hand because who knew when you might lose one, and he'd smiled a wan smile and waved his metal fingers, Kylo had taken that to heart. He stroked himself as he squeezed at Han rhythmically, fingers hooked over the head of his cock to press it snug against his palm. He felt the moisture leaking from Han's tip and that just made him harder. And, when he shuffled up and rubbed Han's length against his own, he could have laughed out loud. They were almost completely identical. 

They looked so much like each other than he wondered if sucking him would be like sucking himself. The thought made his balls feel tight and his cheeks feel hot so he did it, briefly - he moved down, letting Han's cock drag a slick line up his abdomen and chest and underneath his chin, then he licked him, tasted him, brought a drop of precome from his own tip and licked it up to test the theory. They tasted the same but different and he couldn't put his finger on how or why, but it was enough to spur him on: he took Han's cock in his mouth, sealed his lips around the crown and sucked. He swirled his tongue and gave his shaft a stroke and he took a little more, a little more, a little deeper, feeling his own cock rub maddeningly against the bedsheets as he did so. Han pulled on the cuffs again. He pressed his heels to the bed and when the tip of his dick touched the back of Kylo's throat, when Kylo gagged then swallowed then took him in, Han moaned. So much for not liking guys, Kylo thought. Turned out it was just another lie Han Solo told himself. 

He pulled back. The vocoder dislodged against Han's cock so he spat it out into his palm and tossed it away onto the floor - he didn't really need it now. Maybe they looked alike but sucking Han's cock really wasn't like sucking his own, he thought, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb against Han's slit and made him shift his hips. He was big enough himself and his years of Jedi training had made him flexible enough that he could just get the tip of his own cock past his lips if he pushed almost to training, and sometimes he'd thought about Han walking in and finding him like that on one of his infrequent visits. He'd thought about Han seeing him bent over like that, hair hanging down so he almost couldn't see what he was doing, and how wide his eyes would get when he understood. He'd thought about him offering to help, friendly, fatherly, trying to convince himself for a start that thinking about Han like that meant nothing. He'd been so absent and it was just a good turn, a helping hand...except he'd brought himself off imagining his cock in his father's mouth so many times that he'd lost count. 

He almost moved up and rubbed his tip against Han's lips - he was pretty sure he would've let him. But he didn't know how long he'd last if Han licked him, if Han sucked him, if Han took him right down to the root and let him fuck his face until he came. He'd have liked that. Maybe Han would have, too. But he leaned over to the set of shiny drawers there by the bed and pulled it open. It was fully stocked for human clientele but tempted as he was to see Han's reaction to one of the shiny metal toys against his hole, that wasn't what he was looking for. He found the lubricant in a handy pump-top bottle and forewent the protection, after a moment's thought. He could feel his hole reflexively pull tight at the thought of Han's cock in him without it, all close and hot and messy. He wondered if Han's come tasted like his own did, too. 

Han groaned when Kylo slicked his cock with slow, firm strokes. He pulled against the cuffs that were fastened at the metal headboard and he kept on pulling, making the muscles in his shoulders and his arms stand out in fuller definition. He'd seen images of Han when he was younger - flat ones on data pads and three-dimensional holos - and he wondered, as he stroked him, as he watched him pushing up against his hand, if they'd have looked more similar when Han was younger, if he'd look like Han did right then in another few decades' time, or if by then he'd have purged Han from his head completely, like he'd always planned. 

He frowned down at his hand around Han's cock and thought about slicking himself, too. He'd have liked Han to watch him do it, his eyes on him as he pushed his fingers in to get him ready for his cock. Maybe he could have used a toy instead, slicked it up and turned around and had Han watch as he opened himself up with it, inch by inch by inch, taking it just like he'd take him next. Maybe Han would have liked that, too. Maybe his ex-Jedi son would have meant something more to him if he'd watched that, if he'd seen how he took it, if he'd rubbed his fingertips at the place where he was stretched around it, taken it in his hand and thrust it in. Kylo's cock leaked at the thought of it, but Han's hands were bound and he wouldn't unbind them. He wasn't going to take the blindfold off, not yet if ever. And, in the end, all he did was swipe a little extra lube down the length of Han's cock just for good measure then move up to straddle his hips. 

He took Han's slick cock in his hand and eased it back between his thighs, the tip nudging up behind his balls and skimming the length of his perineum on its way to his cheeks. His stomach felt tight and his thighs were spread out wide as he slipped the thick shaft of Han's cock over his hole. He took a breath and let it out, and so did Han. Then he edged the tip down, held it there, pushed it bluntly against himself. He pushed down, slowly, Han's cock in his hand, his toes pressed hard to the mattress, his free hand gripping his own thigh. He pushed. He felt the muscle start to give in a wave of fresh excitement, in a wave of fresh arousal. The head went in, a faint burn, not unpleasant, a tight fit but he'd expected that. He pushed down and took another inch, feeling himself stretch around the girth of him. Another inch. Another. He slid down. He took him all, till he was sitting there, breathless, too hot, gripping white-knuckled at his own bare thighs with Han's cock huge and hot and hard inside him, so deep he could've sworn he felt it all the way into his spine. 

Han cursed in Huttese. Han cursed in mispronounced. Shyriiwook. Then Kylo moved, shifted his hips and moved around his cock. Han didn't have much more to say after that. 

He fucked himself on Han's cock, slowly but with a certain kind of drive and purpose. He fucked himself on him, feeling how big he was, feeling how wide he had to stretch to take him, _feeling_ it because he reached one hand behind himself to rub his own taut rim. Han moaned when he felt that, and Kylo's cock leaked, and he wondered if Han's was leaking inside him, and that just made him even harder until his cock ached, straining, flushed, just like Han's was in him. He flexed his thighs and moved. He spread his hands out at Han's chest for leverage and balance and moved a little faster, harder, as Han's hips pushed up to meet him, forcing him in deep. And Han's breath came fast, loud, through his teeth as he bared them, as he pulled on the cuffs so hard his hands were red and his hips bucked, he groaned, his back arched, he groaned again, and that was it - he came. He came and Kylo felt him come and kept on moving through it, as Han's cock pulsed his semen into him. He'd never let anyone come inside him before. It seemed oddly fitting that Han Solo was the first. 

He didn't pull away, not at first. He stopped moving, just settled down with Han's still-stiff cock pushed in deep, and watched him lying there breathless as he wrapped one hand around himself. He was so hard it almost hurt to touch but he was so hard that he couldn't not and frankly, it didn't take him very long. The muscles in his thighs were already close to trembling and his hole was pulled almost too tight around Han's cock and in a few strokes he was done. He came all over Han's abdomen, his chest, under his chin, thick bursts that made his heart hammer hard inside his chest. He didn't move then, either, while he was still catching his breath just like Han was. He just sat there with him still inside his hole, his own come against Han's chest, until he gritted his teeth and pulled himself back off again. 

His hips ached. His thighs were sore. His face felt hot and he could feel his father's come starting to trickle from his hole and make its way down toward his balls. He didn't bother wiping it away; he just pulled on his underwear and Han laughed, still half-breathless. 

"I guess Talis knows me better than I know myself," Han said, as he shifted around to make himself more comfortable, loose-limbed and relaxed. "You were right. That was great. That was really, really great."

Kylo dressed. His chest felt tight again and he hated that, he hated how _proud_ he felt, how _pleased_ he was, how _good_ it made him feel to know Han thought that he'd done well. It had only taken twenty-something years to make him realize he was worthwhile, good at something, worthy of his praise like some fucking pet, not just his only son. If he'd been a pilot, made the Kessel run in twelve parsecs, maybe he could've had a father. What he had was this, and a dark, hot spike of something vicious rose up in him, like he'd known it would. 

He went to the bed. He trailed his bare fingers over Han's bare toros, over his ribs, sternum, through the thick trails of his own come. When he brought his fingers to Han's mouth, he sucked them eagerly. When he bent down to kiss him, he was just as eager. Kylo didn't care what he tasted like, just that when they kissed he had Han Solo's full attention. 

And then, when he pulled back, he hooked his fingers into the fabric of the blindfold and he took it away with him. 

Han blinked, hugely, with almost his whole face, like the blindfold blurred his vision or the light stung at his eyes. Then, slowly, he focused. Kylo saw the instant that he understood. 

"Ben," he said, his face oddly blank. 

"Hello, father," he replied. 

"Ben," he said, again, and that blank look gave way to crushing devastation. He knew what he'd done. What they'd done. Whose come he tasted in his mouth, whose hole he'd fit inside so snugly. That look was fucking beautiful. It was everything he'd hoped and more. 

Han tried to speak again but Kylo turned and walked away and left him there, still cuffed to the bed. He ground the vocoder under his heel on the way, clipped his lightsaber back to his belt and put the helmet on. He told Talis to give Han half an hour then let him go. He'd be long gone by then, he thought, and he was right; he's long gone, and Han has no way to follow. 

He'll return to the First Order now, ignore Hux's withering looks and report to the Supreme Leader. His course is set and he's on his way and no doubt he'll have orders when he gets there, even if they're just to continue what he's started as he searches for his Uncle Luke. He'd like to think they're getting closer. It's almost ironic that Luke, the Jedi, lightsaber and _may the Force be with you_ , is the one that he can't find and not Han the smuggler. 

He'll return to the First Order, now he's taken one step further from his past. 

Han will never be proud of him. He wonders if Snoke will.


End file.
